


The Morning After

by joss80



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e02 Bad Code, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:10:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joss80/pseuds/joss80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after Reese rescues Finch from Root<br/>(Originally posted on LJ October 9, 2012)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

He cracks an eye open and squints at the ceiling in the pre-dawn light. He doesn’t have his glasses on but can still tell, by shapes and shadows, that he is not in his own bed. There is a nightstand next to him, and he feels around on top of it with his left hand until he locates what he is looking for.

The room zooms sharply into focus.

To his left, a desk, and wide, wide windows.

 _John’s apartment_. The realization hit him somewhere deep inside, and nervous butterflies war with calmness at his very core. He is in John’s bed. He is safe.

To his right, his partner is asleep on his stomach and snoring softly.

No. That isn’t John snoring. The snoring is coming from the foot of the bed, where he sees the dog with expensive tastes – Bear – curled up between their feet, a paw over his face.

He starts to remember as his brain wakes up. He remembers not wanting to be alone with the dog. Not right away, at least. And he remembers not wanting to be apart from John. Not right away, at least. The mismatched threesome had made their way to John’s apartment where there was lots of space. A contained, safe space. He had had curled up onto John’s oversized bed, finally breaking with fatigue, and John had joined him on the other side of the bed, both men stripped down to their boxers and not really caring about propriety or self-consciousness.

Harold ponders that when you’ve saved someone’s life – or have had your own life saved - things like that just don’t seem to matter anymore.

A change in breathing tells him that John is awake, and he turns on his side towards his partner and their eyes meet. John’s lips curl up in a small, familiar-yet-hesitant smile and Harold knows that his lips are doing the same.

This is the awkward part, he supposes. It’s not like they’re waking up together after a night of passion, but it does feel like it in some ways. Perhaps it’s the fact that there _is_ new familiarity between them, a sense of closeness that wasn’t there 24 hours ago. And sharing a bed with someone – no matter how platonic the event – is still sharing a bed with someone. On the trip back to New York, John said he hadn’t shared a bed with Carter during their time in Texas.

Harold ponders that for a moment too.

The blush on his face rises despite his best efforts and he breaks eye contact, grateful for the semi-darkness and for the blanket that is covering him. His self-consciousness has returned.

It is then that he feels fingers intertwine lightly with those on his right hand, and his breath catches slightly in his throat at the gentle caress. There is no denying the heat that courses through his body, and his brain races to try to decipher both John’s motives in the touch and his own body’s reaction to it.

This is completely unchartered territory, and the urge to get up and bolt for the front door is strong.

The massive dog at the end of the bed, now awake and staring at him, is a stronger deterrent. That, and the low, smooth, sleepy voice that asks, “How are you doing, Finch?”

He slowly lifts his eyes to meet John’s again, and the moment they do his thoughts unravel like a sail, and he is a ship lost in a sea of blue, without direction and not really worried anymore that he doesn’t have a map.

He hears a voice speak as if from far away, and is surprised when he realizes it’s his own.

“Much better, thank you,” he whispers as he continues to stare at John, unable to tear his eyes away, and John smiles at hearing it and he squeezes Harold’s hand. Their smiles stretch on and on, and awkward turns into something completely different as neither of them make a move to break their connection.

He knows where this is going, then, and is powerless to stop it. Not that he wants to stop it, that is, but there seems to be some sort of magnet pulling him towards John and he finds his head moving across the pillow of its own accord until their foreheads touch. He can feel his heart thumping in his chest, and John is breathing hard an inch away from him.

“Are you sure?” John asks him, eyes closed, and Harold answers by closing the gap between them. He shudders involuntarily as their lips meet, John’s so soft and warm and _moving_ against his. Harold brings his left had up to John’s bicep, and John responds with a moan and pulls Harold against him so their bodies are as close as they can get with their underwear still on. One of their feet nudges Bear in the process, and he jumps off the bed, unimpressed, but neither of the men notices.

Both of their mouths open to each other at the same time, and their exploration of each other with tongues and hands reaches a new, exquisite level.

Harold decides that this is the best morning he’s had in an awfully long time, and quite possibly worth all of the discomfort with Root in order to be at this exact place and time today… especially with John’s hand venturing under the waistband of his –

A scratching at the front door makes them both freeze, and a split-second later John is up and has pulled a gun from who-knows-where and is braced against the bedroom wall, peering out. Then he relaxes and looks back apologetically at Harold.

“I think we need to take Bear out first.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Reese rescues Finch from Root.  
> (The sequel people were asking for, originally posted on LJ October 11, 2012)

He cracks an eye open and squints at the ceiling in the noon-day light. This time he knows exactly where he is, even without his glasses on.

_John’s apartment. John’s bed._

He shifts slightly and reaches for his glasses once again, and he can feel his body aching sweetly in all the right places, places that haven’t had much of a workout in a long while.

He notices that he is blushing again, not something he is in the habit of doing, but it seems almost impossible not to today.

Glasses in place, he looks to his right and a big brown face stares back at him and – _ugh!_ – dog breath make him turn quickly back toward the windows. He hears nothing, silence, but instinctively knows that John is nearby. He lifts his head ever so slightly and can see the tall man sprawled out on the couch across the room, his nose buried in a book.

John. His partner. His friend. His rescuer. _And lover_ , he mentally adds, feeling himself go hard at the recollection of the morning’s activities. He remembers them kissing their way into the shower after the expedited trip outside with Bear, the bathroom lights dimmed, hands everywhere, and then John’s mouth – _oh god, his mouth!_ – deliciously ravishing him with his back pressed against the shower wall until he came. And he remembers eagerly returning the favor shortly thereafter on John’s bed, until John had begged to be inside him and Harold had nervously obliged... nervously, that is, until sparks had started exploding behind his eyes at John’s ministrations, as John had eased first his fingers and then his stiff cock inside him.

His reverie breaks as he sees John’s eyes lift from the page, and both men break into soft, shy smiles as their eyes meet. Harold knows that there is a new sort of understanding there, and although he is not sure exactly what that is just yet, he knows that they are – for want of a better word – together. And that is enough _ _._ _

John closes the book, draws himself up off the couch, and walks slowly over towards the bed. Harold decides that nobody in the history of time has ever looked so good in a pair of grey sweatpants. It is at this point, his dick still hard and the blanket half off him, that he realizes he is completely naked. But that doesn’t seem to matter because two seconds later John has stepped out of his sweatpants, shooed Bear away, and is curled up against Harold, his right hand splayed over his hairy chest.

Harold has entertained various fantasies about the man next to him over the past year, but in none of them has he dared imagine that John Reese is a cuddler. He is thrilled to be proven so very, very wrong.

“Not to sound redundant but... how are you doing?” John asks him, his forehead pressed against Harold’s temple as he kisses his cheek lightly with rough lips. It is one of only a few sentences they have exchanged since waking up this morning, and Harold is grateful that their inherent closeness means that neither of them feels the need to make small talk.

 _But there’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirting_ , Harold decides, relishing the new-found freedom to do such a thing.

He turns his body to the right and captures John’s lips with his own, and as he presses himself into John he feels the other man’s erection join in a delicious friction with his own. This is all still so new, and somewhat overwhelming, and he can feel himself start to come undone all over again.

He pulls his head away from John’s and focuses on his lips, lips that have explored every inch of his body in the past six hours.

“Exceptional,” is what comes out of his mouth, and he is not sure if he is answering John’s question or making an observation of his lover, but it doesn’t really seem to matter either way. It’s all good. It’s all very, very good.

He raises his eyes to meet John’s then, and sees the sparkle in the blue looking back at him. In a moment of clarity he realizes he has seen that look so many times before, and now that it is given context he instinctively knows that this man’s depth of feelings for him runs just as deep as his own does in return.

The studiously reserved Harold Finch feels like some sort of bubble is about to burst out of his chest and, since this is long-unvisited territory, he chooses actions over words until such a time as he can process all the emotions that are bombarding him.

“That said,” he adds quietly, trailing a hand down John’s chest, “I’d love for you to join me in making this afternoon just as exceptional as this morning.”


End file.
